


The Ghost of Wayne Manor

by Tht0neGal666



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alfred being a father to his sons children, Brothers, Dick bribes Damian into convincing Jason to do it again, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Jason Todd died, Jason Todd is Alive, Jason doesn't like parties, Parties, They ARE brothers, Wayne Manor, actually pretty angsty, batfam, but some angst, cause it's funny, fluffy despite title tbh, rawr, wait, yay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2019-02-03 21:10:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12756273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tht0neGal666/pseuds/Tht0neGal666
Summary: Jason Todd was a name the high society of Gotham knew better than to mention at any party thrown by Bruce Wayne and his family. It seemed to weigh down on their face and made their smiles a bit more glass, and the haunted look in their eyes was nearly terrifying.But not as terrifying as the rumors popping up.(Or; wherein Jason has One Job when he comes back to life, and he isn't doing it very well on 'accident')





	1. Taboo

Jason Todd (Wayne) was a dead man.

He had died years ago, in a tragic accident. It had been in the papers for months, most of the city in mourning at the loss of another Wayne. A name that once lifted the hearts and worries with the promises of a better future now carried almost a forbidden vibe, death following Bruce himself like a beast lying in wait to claim another member of his family. Most of the people in the city couldn't decide if they were impressed by his willpower as he continued to adopt children, or horrified that he would endanger the kids simply to replace the old one.

So, there was an unspoken but understood law at any event, professional or otherwise, involving the Wayne Family; Do not mention Jason Todd. 

It spurred different reactions from each family member, and each was strange or scary in its own right.

\------

The first time he was mentioned, it was an apology. Bruce Wayne had suspiciously greying hair that hadn't been there a week ago, hadn't been there before the tragic end of his second son. A kiss-up rich man by the name of Mr.Quells had bowed deeply to the host, dressed in full black as he gave his sincerest apologies for the horrible accident, reassuring Bruce he could have done nothing to save it and it was hard, but possible, to recover from the loss of a child. Bruce had tensed slightly and gritted his teeth, eyes hardening slightly. Only those well acquainted with the man himself could tell the change. It was as if a shadow passed over his face, as it went a rigid cold.

For a moment, some even entertained that the crack-brained theory matching the millionaire playboy with the insane vigilante could be true, and blanched in fear of what would happen now they knew his identity? However, those chosen few let out a sigh of relief and a laugh at their own thoughts, as the moment passed fast enough to have never happened. Bruce gave a small, sad grin, and nodded in thanks for the apology, admitting it was a sore subject. However, oddly enough, any business propositions made by Mr.Quells or his family were mysteriously vetoed by the Wayne Head himself. 

====

The next time was at a gala, and this time to the Golden Boy of Gotham himself, Richard Grayson-Wayne. He had a bright smile that reached every corner of the room, and could (and often did) carry the mood of the room on his own, a well-placed laugh turning the attention from whatever touchy subject someone had dared to touch. He was always moving, a constantly bouncing force that could never be tamed by any date he brought or even his adoptive father on occasion (Excluding the strangely paternal butler, who had Grayson at his beck-and-call on the rare occasion he cared to exploit it. No one questioned it). Thus, when his mood dropped an octave, it was unsettling for the whole room. 

He had been dancing with a reporter, her eyes probing him with interest as he grinned carelessly and made small talk in spite of her look. It was now a month after the death of his younger adopted brother, and she was running out of angles to take on the story. 

She had decided, finally, to interview the one person many skimmed over; Richard Grayson. He had obvious worry lines on his face and something tired behind his eyes, but his persona remained intact, so people focused more on the grieving father himself. However, she had other plans, executed as they danced through the night as he dipped her low, and she spoke her first words since accepting his offer to dance. 

"How did you feel about Jason Todd?" She inquired, straight to the point, sinking her teeth into what was sure to be a good story.

Richard froze at the question, almost literally. He stopped in place, shock rendering him unmoving. But his demeanor seemed o freeze as well. And people are bound to notice when the sun freezes over. He looked Angry, an emotion that few had ever caught on the boy, and usually only with his qualms with his father. He sent her a biting glare and a plastic smile, excusing himself from the room while he fidgeted with his hands and everyone stared in confusion at the woman left on the floor.

They only spoke once after that, and Grayson was his usual self. He kissed he hand and apologized for being rude, and the party ended shortly after. Any funding her newspaper had gotten from Wayne Enterprises was cut shortly after, and no one from the place were allowed to visit the Wayne Manor for events. She, specifically, had received a restraining order for the family.  
====

The Third mention was an accident, and no one thought it would matter. A group of businessmen were speaking among themselves, about Jason Todd. It had been a year, but no-one wanted to risk a Wayne overhearing their conversation. Nothing good seemed to come of it. They waved a butler over for drinks, uncaring if the servant heard their chatter. What was an old man with a pleasant smile and British accent going to do to their up and coming company anyway? 

So, no one noticed when the eyes of said butler grew sad and his posture sagged as if he had aged simply from hearing the name. Nearly no one realized when said butler spoke to the host himself, causing Bruce to stiffen and scowl for an entire moment. Every one noticed when the men were thrown out of the party the moment one yelled a bit to loud about nothing important and certainly something that would usually go unnoticed, and were never invited back to the Manor.  
====

The forth time, people thought it was safe. As many expected he would, Bruce Wayne seemed to finally move on. He adopted another boy, Timothy Drake, parents know to a few of them through either rumor or interaction and recently deceased. No one was quite sure how the Wayne's so easily got the recently traumatized boy to trust them enough mere days after his parents death thousands of miles away, and most decided it was rather left unquestioned.

People knew better then to mention Jason Todd to either of the Wayne men, nor their Butler apparently, but that made sense. All of them had know Jason, his death must have hurt them deeply. So, there was no reason it wasn't okay to mention him to the newly adopted Timothy.

Some people worried for the boy. Why did let Bruce adopt him? where was his extended family? Was he just a replacement for Jason? Was he being threatened to join or something would happen? A caring old woman and her husband approached the boy, and asked if he felt safe. He answered with an awkward smile and an 'of course I do, why wouldn't I?', and that could have been the end of it. Alas, it was never that simple.

"Well, are you sure son? Aren't you afraid of ending up like that Jason Todd boy? The Wayne's were suspiciously quiet on what happened, you know. You wouldn't even be sure what to watch out for." One of them warned, honestly which one didn't matter right now. What matted was how blank the boy looked now. He had been generally polite, small smiles as he nodded along to conversations, very well behaved for a boy his age but unsurprising for his background. Yet, all that formality dissipated in an instant.

The light in his eyes went out, leaving only a biting cold stare. It wasn't quite a glare, it had no ill intent, but it was more obvious he was looking for _something_ , though they ween't quite sure what. The slight upturn of his lips were straightened out. His posture straightened as well. He was the perfect example of neutral nature. He gave a flat, almost robotic answer of "Of course not, I trust Mr.Wayne.". He stared at them a moment longer, then a vengeful mischief planted a flare in his eyes and a smirk on his lips as he dismissed himself.

They weren't banned from any parties. They weren't ignored in any meetings. No, instead, they went to jail. Exactly one week after the conversation with the boy left them worried (they had heard the stories of other mentions of the boy, really they should have known better), They received a court order. It made them a bit pale, but surely no one knew. Then they turned on the TV, and their world came crashing down as it dawned on them what had happened.

"After an anonymous tip and an investigation led by James Gordan himself, Mr. and Mrs. Guzzle have been accused of embezzling funds,-" and the TV shut off as they stared in horror, unsure _how_ anyone could possibly know.  
====

However, the main story here is what happened the Fifth time someone mentioned the boy, years after his demise and long after any of the above scenarios had been rooted into the mind of all of Gotham High society. His name was the highest of Taboo.

So, when someone screamed it at the top of their lungs, everyone was terrified.


	2. The "Ghost"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Really, Jason just wanted a slice of pizza. It wasn't his fault.

Jason Todd was finally living again.

Of course, he had been "alive" again for a while, fighting crime as the "Red Hood" and delirious with confusion and anger and pain, consumed by the desire to help but unable to remember exactly how to do it properly and unable to trust himself with his own "life" reliably, much less the lives of his family or his friends or anyone else-

But. All that was behind him, for the most part. He still had nightmares about hurting his brothers and countless other problems with his rebooted brain. But, it was bearable now. It was bearable because he had reconnected with his family, even if he held anger for all of them except Alfred, honestly.

Speaking of Alfred, he was the reason Jason Todd was here right now. He had recently spoken to his grandfather-figure for the first time since his death. He had avoided Alfred for weeks after his return because the person he was most afraid of hurting was the man. Bruce and Dick and Tom-Tim, his name was Tim. They could handle him if he lost it. He didn't doubt Alfred could fight, but he wasn't confident it could be enough. Finally, he had talked himself into entering the mansion he had spent the best part of his life in. Bruce and Dick were on patrol, so it was only him, Alfred, and his replacement (who waited in another room for a sign of struggle, just in case) in the house. Perfect. He strutted into the kitchen, faking a confidence he hadn't felt in forever and he was sure Alfred would see through but they would both pretend he hadn't and-

...And he had chosen a bad time. He walked into the kitchen, and Alfred was cooking up a storm. There was enough food for twice the size of their family (and that was saying something), who could possibly eat all of it?

Realization struck, as he remembered that Bruce carried the better part of the city on his shoulders during the day as well. He hadn't really kept up with whatever Wayne Enterprise was doing, too busy fighting and trying to understand the world again to check in much on the actions of them. So, it wasn't super surprised that he had no idea that there was a party tonight.

That wasn't going to stop him, however. He was a man on a mission, and that mission was talking to the only member of his family that he held no ill-will for, and he'd be damned (again) if a party interrupted his mission. So, with a stubborn determination, He dawned an apron (and if it was way to small for him? If it was his old apron that Alfred had gotten him for his 15th birthday, that he had never actually gotten the chance to wear as it hung on the hook next to Alfred's 'kiss the cook' apron? no one had to say anything.) and walked into the kitchen, looking around for the man.

"Hey, Alfred. Need any help?" He asked the aging man. wincing a little at how unsure he sounded, his voice was small like he was 14 years old and was apologizing for punching Dick or breaking a flower vase.

"Ah, Greetings Master Jason. I would love some actually, would you mind watching the stove?" the old man answered with the same warm tone he always welcomed him with, a smile playing his face. And, if he was nice enough not to mention Jason's tone, Jason could stand to not point out the water rimming the butler's eyes. It was only fair. "How have you been? It has been a while." He inquired, starting small talk casually, like it had been a few days and not several years, like he had seen Jason last week and was curious as to what he was doing.

"Of course not, Agent A." Jason smiled, the first real smile in what felt like an eternity gracing his lips as he watched the several boiling pots on the stove, sturring them accordingly. "I've been...Lonely, I suppose. But, it's getting better." He admitted, giving a sigh of reluctance. He simply could not lie to Alfred, The last time he had lied to Alfred, it wasn't even on purpose. He had said 'see ya tonight old man' and smiled a mocking grin, and died regretting that very fact. The first words to the man couldn't be another lie.

"I am very sorry to hear that Master Jason. Is there anything I can do to help?" the man nearly croaked and if Jason turned to look he was 50% sure he'd see Alfred crying, so he didn't turn.

"As long as I can talk with you, you're doing tons. How have you been?" Jason returned lightly, turning the pasta off as it finished and placing it on the counter.

They continued like that for hours, light chit-chat about this and that, things that didn't really matter. Neither of them were keen on wasting words, but this was anything but. They weren't wasting a single word, because they were speaking to each other, and every word counted to prove that Jason was _there_ , in the kitchen, just like old times. Tim fell asleep, leaning on the other side of the wall _just in case._

===

All good things must come to an end, or at least a pause. They heard doors opening and Jason sighed, assuring Alfred he could watch the kitchen while he was greeting Batman & Nightwing home and turning them into Bruce and Richard Wayne. He held his word, of course, finishing up all the cooking that was left with a practiced ease, like a well oiled but slightly rusted machine.

And then, he left a note for Alfred and went upstairs, to a room that hadn't been touched in years. And he waited.

====

Jason was tired, so he took a nap. He set an alarm for midnight, because as long as he could remember these parties generally ended at 11:30 on the dot(and why, exactly, he was so sure of the fact? Unimportant.). How was he supposed to know that changed?

He yawned and woke up, stretching groggily as he stood at the top of the stairs. He wasn't fully awake, but he was awake enough to know he wanted some pizza.

He wasn't awake enough to notice the continued noise of a party beneath him.

So, it was nothing short of startling when, as he started to defend the staircase, someone screamed his name in horror as a glass shattered. 

**_"what the hell, is that Jason Todd?"_**

The scream alone would have distributed the party. However, for some reason, the addition of his name froze the entire house. It went dead silent, and the pale face of the screaming woman doubled as she realized-something. He wasn't quite sure what was going on, only that the guests looked horrified and even mildly offended that she said his name, and that only a handful bothered to look at him instead of the banshee.

But then, then he was awake, and he remembered why he hated these parties, the smell of the beverages nearly everyone held twisted his stomach and he went as pale as a ghost and he couldn't be here anymore and why was the party still going-

So he left. He glared at the gathered guests at the foot of the staircase, turned around, and left. He had every intention of leaving out of a window and leaving them to wonder, but, it occurred to him with a devilish smirk, but he could do one better. It was childish, of course, yet he didn't quite care as he looked behind himself, a haunted look on his face and said;

"Boo!" With a shit-eating grin, dropping a smoke bomb he always kept handy and fleeing, leaving his adoptive family to deal with the screaming house.

====

His next visit offered...mixed reactions. 

Alfred had shaken his head, obviously fighting a smile down, and offered a half hearted reprimanding, then handed him a plate of his favorite cookies and continued cleaning.

The bat was gave less leeway, chewing him out for risking exposing himself to the public. He was legally dead, after all, and him being recognized was never good. Jason had rolled his eyes because _Bruce can't tell me what to do anymore_ , and determined that he may make another guest appearance. Just to screw with the old man, if nothing else.

Dick just laughed at him. Granted, he tried not to. He tried to scold him for his foolish actions like _a good and responsible big brother_ , but his lecture was interrupted by his amusement and he laughed. He ended up striking a deal; "tell Bruce I gave you a hard time, and I'll send you a video of Tim singing in the shower." He offered evily, with a handshake Jason took. he could accept that.

The replacement was nonchalant. He gave a brisk remark about the needless risk and possible consequences of his actions, then stood from his spot and evacuated the room, leaving clippings from a news article; 'Ghost of Wayne Manor; Hoax or Haunting?'.

Finally, the dreaded demon himself. Jason got ready for an earful similar to that of the bat, as the child stared him down. However, something seemed...off. He didn't seem angry, and was almost calm, and that was the creepiest shit ever. Jason got up to leave, but Damion stopped him with a huff. 

"Your interruption was entertaining at that drab gathering. I...begrudgingly appreciate it, and admit your escape was impressive." The boy stated, staring at the wall a bit to the left of Jason and _definitely not blushing thank you very much_. He cleared his throat and left Jason in shock.

If spooking a room full of squares with sticks up their asses and silver spoons in their mouths was all it took to bond with the closed off kid, he would have done it long ago. And he sure as hell was going to doit again.

====

"Did it work?"

"I do not know, Grayson. I did as you said."

"Aww, don't act all grumpy."

"I am not grumpy."

"Don't lie little D. Cheer up. You weren't even really lying, were you?"

"Of course I was! Like something so childish could really amuse me."

"Ah! You're smiling. I think it did~"

"...Watch your tongue Grayson, before I cut it out."

"Yessh, okay. Relax."

"And let my guard down? I refuse. Now, my payment?"

"It's on your bed, along with some brownies cause I'm the best big bro. Don't stay up to late."

"Pleasure doing business with you. And do not tell me what to do."

"Okay, okay. Wanna watch a movie? I got the Aladdin sequels!"

"Aren't those rumored to be god awful?"

"Yes! So someone needs to watch them with me!"

"Tt. Fine."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will I continue this? Won't I? The world may never know.


	3. Petty Revenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason wanted revenge.  
> Tim owed him a favor.  
> Bruce was out of town.  
> Dick had a camera.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~Inspired by a suggestion in the comments of the last chapter and your guy's encouragement to continue this, Enjoy!~

Jason was resourceful.

He had to be, really. He had grown up on the streets of Gotham, and that by itself could (and usually did) earn them good senses and the highest ability to work with what you had. If you didn't, generally, you were dead meat. He had vivid memories of dressing up in a garbage bag, black cat ears, and a clean (hopefully, mostly) diaper he cut holes in, all to make a low budget Batman costume to scare off mini thugs. It had worked surprisingly well. It was hard to tell to much out when you looked at someone from the shadows, and Gotham was infamously full of shadows. Not many stayed around long enough to look closer at him. Not that anyone in the family needed to know that, ever, at all, thanks. 

But, the streets of Gotham gave people much more than that as well. The ability to get away with crimes easily. a dark sense of humor, a dulled fear of guns and mildly suicidal tendencies. eyes in the back of your head, always watching out for someone behind you or to your left. knowledge on how to hide a body, bribe the police, where the important gangs were, acquire drugs (legal or otherwise), hotwire a car, get out of a fight, and a multitude of other things most people should (not) know off the top of their head, for their own good. picking pockets and locks were met with a roll of your eyes and "ah, its kids being kids.". A silver tongue that could talk circles around attackers and leave them dizzy enough to allow an escape. A willingness to do nearly anything to earn that much-needed mullah. 

And, most importantly, it had given him a strong sense of revenge. It had worked against him in the past, he knew. It was a large portion of the reason he still didn't (couldn't, even if he wanted to) really forgive Bruce. It would cause trouble for him in the future, probably, he would readily admit. But, that didn't change the facts. And the fact was, his newfound status as a ghost was the perfect opportunity to get some much-needed revenge.

He had made a fair amount of enemies in his day. Granted, he had only lived on the street until he was in his early teens, at the latest. Granted, anyone who tormented him back then were probably just being stupid kids with a hard past and in need of an outlet. Granted, it was entirely possible (though, unlikely) that these people had grown up to be important members of society or something. 

But he was petty. And, as far as he cared, he had every right to be. He also had a very reluctant replacement that owed him a favor. So, after years and years, he would have his revenge. No matter what. 

~~~~

"...You want me to do _what?_ "

"Aww, come on Repla-Timbo. You sound like I just asked you to kill someone."

"You're doing this for revenge. How do I know that you aren't?"

"...I promise?"

This was off to a good start. Luckily, his aforementioned Gothamite tongue came to life, and an easy but dangerous smirk graced his lips.

"Besides, you owe me. I got that demon-brat to believe that 'Jinx' was a test of willpower, and he didn't talk for a _week_ , until Dick ruined it."

"That's true..." and Jason straightened his back because he _knew_ no, I just don't want to overwork the permanently exhausted pigeon, but that would be admitting he cared on some level. He'd sooner confess to murder.

"Well, you're easy-to-forget Robin, right? I'm a busy man, I won't be able to sneak back here for three days, so that's your time frame. capiche?" Jason lied through his teeth with a dazzling smile and a roll of his eyes, and Tim was either too kind to point it out or too tired to care (and yeah, it was probably the former, he was crazy observant, but he liked to believe it was the later.).

"Fine. See you then. But it'll be done in 12 hours." Tim sighed, taking the list of names from Jason and waving him out. "Now get out of my office before I call security on you, outlaw." Tim muttered, and Jason laughed.

"Security? We are in your room. You need more sleep." He claimed with a condescending 'tut tut tut'.

"..I can call Barbra. You could definitely use a visit from the fashion police." He pointed out seriously, recovering with what even Jason could admit was an impressive grace for someone who was tired enough to forget where they were. 

"okay okay, I'm gone. Sheesh." Jason grimaced, imagining the scene and leaving before he could finish the thought. Excuse him for being dead for years and unable to keep up with fashion. He had more important things to do with his time.

~~~~

Kenny "Key" Kathy was a fairly normal guy. Granted, he was an above average lockpick (and an above average lockpick in Gotham was a master thief anywhere else), sure. But, he had a life. A girlfriend. A semi-stable job. And, now, a letter on his doorstep. He went into his living room to open it, because his older brother was over and he'd be damned if he opened a letter on the front porch and it sprayed Joker-gas and he died with no witnesses. If he was going to die because of a letter, he would have his big buff bro to avenge him.

But, It was just a letter. In fact, it was an invitation. Formally, at least. It read, in fancy writing, ' _You're invited! Go to 1366 Owlish Ave. for a party with an old friend!_ ', and if that wasn't sketchy as hell he didn't know what was.

But. There was a wad of money on the back, along with a smaller note detailing that time he stole a car from a fairly rich house, and promising him failing to attend would result in an arrest, if he was lucky.

He decided that all in all, sketchier things were out there. He could attend. He didn't have much to lose but his life, and hey, that was an average Tuesday in Gotham.

~~~~

Everyone showed up. There wasn't much here, honestly. It was your standard warehouse, well lit on the floor but heavily shadowed rafters that made many suspicious. But, hey. They knew enough about the crazy people in the city that if they left now, with their luck, they'd be the one Joker shot in the head and joked about 'at least they went out with a bang!', so they stayed in place. Their best bet was to lay low until shit inevitably hit the fan, then run and hope they were the lucky few that lived to tell the tale. 

The room let out a collective silent groan as mist descended from the rafters because 'great, it was some newbie wannabe villain who was going for a smoke motif and they didn't have time for this', and some deemed it safe to try and leave. 

But the doors were locked, and now they were kinda scared because they didn't see anyone do that.

Nor did they see anyone turn out all the lights, yet they were suddenly in darkness, and wow smoke was really thick and kinda hard to breathe and what did they get themselves into this time? No one screamed the lights went out, all going deadly silent in a desperate attempt to listen for the movement of the one that gathered them and the inevitable first body to hit the floor.

But that didn't happen. No, it remained deadly silent. It stretched for minutes, one, two, three, four, five, six, seve-

The lights came back on and received a displeased hiss as they shone brightly on the citizens to accustomed to the darkness. But, as everyone gained their barrings, they looked around them with darting eyes trying to find a way to make sense of it all or leave because this, as few things tend to do, was actually freaking them out.

Then, sitting on the third rung of a ladder that they were sure wasn't there before, was a man none of them had seen in years.

Of course they know who he is. It's Jason Todd. They all remember, quite clearly, what happened to the boy. He was always especially vindictive. When he was adopted by the richest man in Gotham, everyone who had ever wronged him held their breath and awaited punishment.

Then he died, and they all gave a sigh of relief because he was gone, no more threat. Perhaps a cruel and distasteful way to react to death, but hey. When in Rome, right?

"Hiya guys. ya miss me?"

And no one was sure who exactly screamed, but they all knew someone would and they were all surprised it wasn't themselves, honestly.

Jason smirked, and the games began.

~~~~

"Well, that was fun!" Jason Todd grinned, pale makeup enhancing his ghostly appearance. Dick nodded, emerging from the rafters.

"Yep!" Dick agreed, going over the video he had. It was nothing special, honestly. Kinda shakey and a bit blurry, but clear enough to see what was happening.

"Yknow, usually I'd yell at you for stalking me. But, today? After getting the vengeance I've been sitting on for at least a decade? I'll let it slide."

"That's what brothers are for!"

"Are you going to help with clean up, at least?" Jason inquired, looking over the room. Red liquid was everywhere, and it was a strawberry sauce, granted, but. the effect worked. There was alson neon "ectoplasm" everywhere, confetti, fog machines, foam, marbles all over the floor, streamers, and other things akin to a college frat party murder mystery. Dick nodded with a grin.

"That's what brothers are for."


	4. School Days.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Colin has to draw the line somewhere

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when this started off as a one shot and now-  
> Okay, so, in this universe, Damien goes to Gotham City Academy so he learns how people act outside of, ya know, his insane family or his OTHER insane family  
> Plus Colin, because I love this boy and Damien bothered his father until Colin was given entrance to the academy

Colin Wilkes could believe a lot of things.

He kind of had to believe a lot of things. That he could turn into a giant monster. That people judge based on appearance, so he'd never really be a hero. That Elephants can't jump. That super powers exist. That living in Gotham was all but a ticket to an early death. That Robin was friends(?) with him. That only female mosquitoes suck blood. That he was friends with Damian Wayne, the rich grump that never talked to anyone. That he was accepted to the most prestigious school in Gotham, despite never applying. 

Most of those are things everyone must come to terms with at one point or another, and he knew that as well. But, there were a few things that only he would ever have to deal with. 

And Damian Beyoncé Wayne was one of those things. ("Is your middle name really Beyonce?" "As far as the press is concerned? Yes." "okay.")

Now, his friend was awesome. He was a superhero, an actual superhero that people adored and respected. He was a genius, smart enough to sleep through class and never miss a single answer when called on or given a test. He was rich, enough money to buy anything he wanted, and willing to buy Colin something if Colin requested so (He never did. He had been poor his whole life, it would just be weird if he had fancy things). He was confident and cocky and could (and wold) fight everyone.

But, he was also paranoid. Like, _**super paranoid**_.

Damian was always looking over his shoulder for something that he was convinced was there but never was. Everyone knew better then to touch him, because a tap to the shoulder would be returned with a judo flip before anyone knew what was happening. He used sign language, because you never know if somethings wiretapped and it was safer to discuss secrets silently. He never refereed to anyone by their given name, only their last, and Colin wasn't quite sure why. He wore just enough make-up ("It's not make-up, its concealer!" "You are wearing more then just concealer." "the purpose serves before the title!") to make him look like someone similar to the famous Damian Wayne.

That was all something Colin had learned to live with. He returned the suspicious glares he was given when Damian was in a bad mood with rolled eyes and a friendly smile, and stated a conversation about something stupid to distract his friend. He never touched Damien until he was sure Damian was okay with it, and even then it was still rare because Damian allowing it to happen didn't mean Damian was happy with it, and Colin wanted his friend to be happy. He called Damian "Dames" and "Dami" and never "Damian" in public, 'just in case'. He spent hours learning sign language so they could talk about important stuff. He didn't mind or question being called "Wilkes". He even offered minimal teasing about the fact that the boy wore makeup.

But, even Colin drew the line somewhere. And today, he found out exactly where that somewhere was.

He was _not_ going to believe in ghosts.

He had never really met the Waynes, but he knew about them. Everyone did. There were rumors of countless others that Bruce had unofficially taken in, but as fr as paperwork was concerned, there were five Wayne Family Members. There was the Golden boy of Gotham; Dick Grayson. There was the billionaire Play-Boy; Bruce Wayne. There was the infamous Demon Child; Damian Wayne. There was the Heir to Wayne Enterprises; Timothy Drake. And, there was the deceased Bad-Boy of Gotham; Jason Todd.

Keyword? Deceased. Jason Todd was dead. And that made sense, lining up the Bat family. 

Damian refused to disclose who was who behind the mask. He knew that Damien was Robin, so either Dick or Bruce was Batman, because they were both father figures to his friend. He assumed that Tim was the previous Robin, given the ages, though he wasn't sure who Tim was now. Red Robin, perhaps, but his only clue was the name motif. He was no detective. He couldn't begin to place all of the girls, but they obviously weren't Jason. There was Nightwing, but he was active both before and after Jason Todd's death. That left only Red-Hood, but that was a problem, because it made no sense. There was no chance that Red Hood was part of the batfamily. They had two rules, from what he could see; no guns and no murder. Red Hood broke both of those on a regular basis, not to mention the lack of a bird or bat related name. He was obviously an independent vigilante, like Colin himself.

So, Jason Todd wasn't alive. He was 100% sure of it. Thus, he was 100% sure that Damian was full of shit. Because, for some reason, his friend thought he was stupid enough to believe him when the dark haired boy signed 'J-a-s-o-n T-o-d-d, alive' in the middle of a conversation about the best breed of dogs.

Colin had bit the inside of his cheek to keep from reacting to such a ridiculous claim, leaving his mouth on autopilot to rant about Dalmatians while he signed a response. 'lies. you test me. Gullible.' He signed, cringing a little as he hoped that conveyed the right message; You are lying to test how gullible I am. 

Damian scowled and gave a small shake of his head as he spun an argument in favor of black Labradors. 'Truth. Alice. I lie?'

Colin nodded rapidly at the question, though it seemed like he was agreeing with Damian's point. God, this was so complicated. Why couldn't he have normal friends? Ya know, besides only wanting to be Damien's friend. 'Constantly, Demon-Bird' he teased, using the sign he came up with as Damian's nickname.

That earned a scowl. 'fair. not important. J-a-s-o-n T-o-d-d, Alive.' his friend repeated, and Colin stood up.

'No. No way. Not doing this. See you tomorrow.' he signed, not really caring if he was clouding the meaning with extra words because he was Not continuing that conversation.

Damian growled a little and signed 'Truth. Bye.' almost robotic, closing their argument on dogs by declaring himself the winner.

"Prove it." Colin stated, out loud, giving an exasperated groan and going to class as the bell rang.

He refused to believe in ghosts.

~~~~


End file.
